


You Never Were

by CaptainJimothyCarter



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fics [73]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adorable FitzSimmons (Agents of SHIELD), Alistair Fitz grade A parenting [sarcasm], Autistic Jemma Simmons, Autistic Leo Fitz, Drabble, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Leo Fitz-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJimothyCarter/pseuds/CaptainJimothyCarter
Summary: Fitz's father hated everything about him. How his hands shook, how he couldn't keep them still or stop chewing on his thumb. How he stuttered over himself, couldn't get the right words out. How obsessive he was with science this week and flower picking the next. How he had no friends. Most of all, Alistair Fitz considered his son a failure.Fitz did too until he met Agent Maria Hill, until he was taken into SHIELD Academy, and until he met Jemma Simmons who helped him find the answers.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Series: Tumblr Prompt Fics [73]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952281
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	You Never Were

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing FitzSimmons in general or anything with SHIELD and writing Autistic Fitz. It's always been a headcanon of mine that I'm glad I could flush out.
> 
> I just don't remember much of SHIELD Academy or even the characters, so some minor details were changed.
> 
> Please be warned there is some abuse, nothing too graphic or detailed.

_ “Stop that!”  _ Alistair Fitz hissed in his young son’s ear, jerking his hand away from his face. “We are in public. You do not touch your face in your public.  _ Or twist your fingers.  _ Did the tutors teach you nothing?” 

Fitz flinched as his fingers were jerked apart, biting back the whimper. Instinctively, he scooted closer to his mother, trying to put as much distance between him and Alistair as possible. His tutors did teach him plenty. They taught him science and math and English - his father knew this. Had given the disgruntled, confirmed grunt at his excellent grades - so why did he question it? 

And why did his father get so upset when he kept touching his face or twisting his fingers? It calmed him down when they were in public. The public eye cared nothing for him or his mother, all they saw were his father and the outstanding job he did in his line of work or gave so much money away. They saw nothing behind the public and how he treated his son and insisted he was a failure despite getting excellent grades in school.

“There’s something wrong with the boy,” Alistair whispered to his wife later that evening, when they thought Fitz was asleep in his mother’s lap. “There just isn’t something right with him. He has no friends his age despite being top of his class. His room has to be in a certain order. He  _ freaked  _ on the maid for touching his science fits. There’s something wrong with him and it needs to be fixed.”

If his mother had a response, Fitz didn’t hear it. His ears were roaring and his head was starting to ache after an intense evening of having to be around countless faces he couldn’t remember. All the touching and screaming, and laughter, built up to a bubble in his chest and he could feel it bursting.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Fitz found himself saying, still unable to meet his own father in the eyes. It was a battle too and Alistair could always count on his son dropping his gaze the second he met it.

“Oh no, boy, there’s plenty wrong with you!” Alistair snapped, stepping forward. “You’re an idiot. You can’t do anything right! Other kids your age go out, have friends! Instead, you’re cuddled in your mother’s lap like you’re a lap dog. You-you-you-”

Fitz didn’t feel the slap, but he heard it. He saw it coming, the hand striking him hard across the cheek. He could feel his tears running down his face as his father stalked out of the room, the door slamming as his mother rushed over to tend to him. He didn’t feel it, not until days later, where he stood in front of someone from a SHIELD academy. His cheeks were blotchy and red, the collar of his shirt was done up too far on his father’s insistence. 

Everything felt wrong and itchy.

The too cold smell, that icy bite to the air coming from the air conditioner, and the loud, metallic whirling did not help. He could barely stop himself from flinching every time it clicked on and off in this too-silent office.

He’d been called into the dean’s office, the dean was immediately dismissed outside by the woman. She said her name Maria Hill. He could remember that much.

“Are you okay?” Hill asked in a soft tone. Fitz still flinched at it, gripping the arms of the chair, his nails biting into the pleather padding. She followed his eyes to the air conditioner and gave a small nod. “Is it too loud?” 

Fitz didn’t answer but he felt his body visually sag with relief as she walked across the too-posh, too cluttered office to turn it off. As she sat back in front of her, he felt his fingers starting to twitch again. He sat on them to get himself to stop touching them together. 

His father would know about it.

“Am I in trouble?” Fitz suddenly blurted out. Did his father do it - did he sent this Hill from SHIELD to correct him? To fix him? “You’re not going to in-inject me with drugs to fix my brain, are you? Because there’s  _ nothing  _ wrong with me.”

Hill sat back, her fingers tapping on the table. “Your brain is why I’m here, Leopold.” She watched as he flinched at the name.

“Fitz. Call me Fitz. Why...my brain? So I’m not in trouble?”

The woman smiled and something about that smile made him relax. Maybe because it reminded him of his mother and the smile she wore when she insisted everything was going to be okay.

“Fitz, then. Why don’t we go for a walk, hm? We can get out of this cramped office and into the sun. And out of noisy people’s business, isn’t that right  _ Paul?”  _

Fitz turned around in his seat, watching as the dean to the school sheepishly walked inside his office, avoiding Fitz’s gaze.

* * *

There was no point in telling his father. He already knew it wouldn’t be good enough. Getting into SHIELD Academy wasn’t good enough. He was never good enough. Alistair didn’t even see him off. He wasn’t there. He pretended Fitz didn’t exist and somehow that hurt more than one of the too many slaps that still rung in his ears on bad days. His mother on the other hand couldn’t be prouder.

She asked all the right questions but there was one he could never avoid.  _ “Are you making friends?” _

He said he was happy, he was learning, he was eating, and working, why did it matter if he had friends? Did he want friends - of course, he did. Fitz knew he was shy, a loner, he never seemed to laugh at the right moment. He always chose the wrong thing to say, always did the wrong thing, maybe a bit too late or too soon. He never got the social cues right. 

He was a loner and part of him had made his peace with it. 

He always replies,  _ “Yeah, mom, trying.”  _ He’d find an excuse to hand up shortly after that.

In truth, he was trying. Or, well, he tried. He buried himself into his work. He wanted the top grades, to please his father, to please his teachers, to just have someone proud of him. Then he was paired with  _ her.  _ In not one but several of his classes. A latecomer but a promiser to be the best of the best - Jemma Simmons.

There was a silent competition between them, to one-up one another. To do more than the other. To do better. To get that extra smile from the teacher or a promising note left on some paper or test. To do  _ more. _

He didn’t hate her - he couldn’t hate her. There was some part of her that refused to allow it. He wanted to impress her, to get her to like him. To think of something smart to say. To think of something to make her laugh. To get her to smile at him like that, not their teacher but it somehow bloomed into this competition and Fitz couldn’t let it down. If he stopped, then she stopped, and in some way by them doing this, it felt like they were together. 

At least to him.

Then  _ it  _ happened.

They were paired together, for an official grade, on a project he couldn’t wiggle his way out of. Working with other people was hard, impossibly hard. He liked to work alone, by himself. He couldn’t count on others to understand him, to depend on his grade. Working alone was better because if he failed, he had no one to blame but himself.

And if  _ they  _ failed, he couldn’t blame Jemma. Not even if he wanted to.

She was supposed to come to his dorm, 8 o’clock sharp. It’s what they agreed on. He even tidied it up, more than normal, setting clothes in his hamper, stashing that in the closet, Cleaned up his desk, and made sure everything was in order.

8 o’clock came and passed. She wasn’t there. Then his phone rang and of all people to call him, to see that name flash on his screen.

_ Alistair  _

Fitz felt his heart sink. He knew if he didn’t answer, there would be hell to pay. Even if the man wasn’t physically here, he would make him pay.

Swallowing, Fitz answered. “H-hello.”

“What’s this your mother is talking about?  _ Wiring you money.” _

Of course, it was always money. Always about money.

“I-I needed it. For a-a project. For...for essentials. It came from my account.”

He was picking at his thumb again, chewing on the end. He could feel his head starting to ache, his heart racing. 

“No,  _ boy,  _ it came from  _ my  _ account. That account is mine, regardless if you have a name in it or not. You do not get a say and do not touch this money until you’re eighteen and that’s even if I want you to have it!”

The yelling started and Fitz flinched, holding the phone away from his ear. He could feel his heart racing, feel his hands trembling. What could he do to make this right?

He couldn’t tell his father the truth - he couldn’t tell him how Hill, his unofficial guide into SHIELD academy (when she wasn’t busy with Fury and doing SHIELD things), mentioned off-hand about testing.

Autism testing. 

He could be autistic and the more he looked into it, the more he understood it, the more he agreed. His father would never. It’s why he took the money, to make sure that he had enough to pay for it if SHIELD refused to do it. He hadn’t asked Hill yet.

“What is all that yelling?” A voice breathed from the open doorway. Jemma stood there, a steaming bag of food in hand, holding her bag in the other.

Her eyes widened at the sight of Fitz, the pale face, the soft humming he made, and how his hands trembled around the phone. His free hand trembles as he places it to his head, touching his hair. Hair touching meant he was safe.

Jemma stood in front of him, holding her hand out for the phone. When Fitz didn’t give it, she gently took it. “Alistair Fitz?” She asked calmly. “You are no longer allowed to speak to your son until you can do so in a calm manner that isn’t causing him to have a breakdown.” She flinched at whatever he said on the end - Fitz could only guess. “No,  _ sir,  _ I-”

She huffed as the phone went black and gently placed it on the table. Slowly she knelt in front of him and cupped his cheek, he flinched back from the touch and she let go. “You’re not okay,” she breathed. “Can I touch you? Or do you not like touch? What can I do?”

It was too many questions and maybe it was his father’s words or the fact Jemma - someone he’s crushed on for weeks - was before him and had heard Alistair. He felt the sob rise in his throat. His hands pressed hard into his temple, feeling her hands slowly wrap around them. They were gentle, cool. He liked the touch.

Her touch was safe.

She wouldn’t hurt him.

“Does he hurt you?” She asked after a good hour of them hugging on the bed. A better part of that hour was him curled up on his side and she was rubbing his back, not questioning, not arguing. Not belittling him. Calming him down.

Fitz just made a noise, swallowing it and jerking his head. “Y-yes. Sometimes. When he’s angry, very angry. Slapped me before I left for...for...taking my laptop with me.”

She made a disgusted noise but instantly stopped. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I am so sorry. You’re safe here.”

Yeah, he was. He truly was.

* * *

It was two weeks after his breakdown, in the middle of their few hours between classes did the autism test come up. The pair were inseparable, laying out in the sun. Jemma was pointing out what stars laid out in the sky, despite it being bright and sunny. He could listen to her talk about anything.

A shadow fell across them and Fitz instantly sat up, his tie hitting him in the face. Agent Hill stood in front of them, a file in her hand. Her smile was familiar when she looked down at them. “I see you met Jemma Simmons. Miss Simmons, it’s good to see you again. No cloning, I take it?”

Jemma’s face flushed a bright pink and laughed. “No, ma’am, no cloning. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, I wanted to speak to Fitz. Alone, if you’re okay with that, Fitz?”

Fiz felt his head jerk from Jemma to Hill. “She can stay. Why are you here? Are we in trouble?”

Jemma’s hand found his and gave a light squeeze as Agent Hill sat down directly across from them. “Well,” Hill began, setting the file in Fitz’s lap. “I know we spoke earlier about getting you tested for autism and I spoke to a few people. We can do it. It’s all up to you - no parent signature required.”

Relief and fear washed over Fitz at the same time as he stared down at the file, just a simple manilla folder. It bore his name and inside he knew the documents for the testing. He turned his head to look at Jemma, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Should I? What if I’m...broken?” 

Jemma’s eyes burned as she touched his hand again, desperate to pull him into a hug. “You are never broken. Never were and will be. I think it’s a good idea. It’s somewhere to start.”

* * *

It’s a week later when they’re finishing up the last few details of their project, does Fitz finds Hill in his dorm room. She silently handed him the file and met his eyes, giving that same comforting smile. His heart dropped at that smile. 

“I’ll be just a phone call away, okay? I thought you’d like to read that alone.”

All that stood between him and a diagnosis of answers was a file. Just a simple paper that he had to flip open. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, staring at it hard on his desk. It was out of place. It didn’t belong here. To get rid of it, he had to open it.

He couldn’t.

“Fitz,” Jemma breathed. “Regardless of what lies in that file, of what answers it gives you, you’re my best friend. You’re not broken, no matter what your father says. You’re  _ you.”  _

_ “Yes, but…”  _ His tongue darts out to lick his lips again, touching the folder and jerking his hand away. He can’t help but shake his leg at this point in anxiety. “I  _ need  _ to know. I’m just afraid.”

Her hand finds his and she squeezes again. “Then we’ll do it together, okay? I won’t let you go through this alone.”

His lips quiver as he smiles at her in return, his hand slowly opening the file. 

He reads it three times over, front to back, in rapid sessions. Tongue between his lips as he quickly reads it. The last time, his eyes burned with tears. He feels Jemma’s arms around her. He can’t help it to turn around in her arms and  _ sob.  _

_ “I’m not broken,”  _ he chokes out into her shoulder.

  
Her arms only tighten around him.  _ “You never were.” _


End file.
